Catholic Guilt
by GoddessofSnark
Summary: Why'd you leave seminary?" "I failed my test of faith." "It's not because of not being able to uphold the vows of celibacy, is it? It's about who you'd wind up breaking them with." Chouse.


A/N This was originally supposed to be an angsty Chouse fic, but it somehow took a left turn at Angst, and wound up...just being what it is, and winding up with crotch-grabbing rugby jokes instead, and a House that doesn't feel quite as in character as i like him to.

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"Why did you leave seminary?" It's just like him to ask the pointed, probing question, and the only thing you can do is shrug in response.

"I failed the test of faith." It's a simple answer, and it is, in a sense, the truth. Not the whole truth, but the truth. A lie of omission is not really a lie, after all.

"What'd you do, bang a nun?" You pause mid-stride and grit your teeth, before shaking your head.

"Why do you care? It's not even as though you're my boss anymore."

"Curiosity." He's following you as you walk around the hospital, not sure where to go to escape his incessant prying into your own life. "You had to do something pretty bad. Or is it just your Catholic guilt?" You're both in the surgical lounge now, and it's empty aside from you and him. Then again, it's also three in the morning, and you don't know how he's still awake.

You sit down, rather heavily, on the couch, and he sits on the chair across from you, obviously in no mood to leave you alone. "Don't you have a patient?"

"She'll still be dying twenty minutes from now, and we still won't have any test results, so I can spare a bit of time to question you." You close your eyes, and lean back against the couch, wondering if this was your punishment for dropping out of seminary. "So what did you do to fail your test of faith?"

"Even if I _had_ slept with a nun, I wouldn't tell you, nor will I tell you why I decided that I wouldn't make a good priest."

"You're sympathetic, you care about people, and you want to make them better. You're self-righteous, and pious all at once, you have everything you need to become a great priest. So why do you feel that you're better as a doctor than a priest?" You're not sure if he's insulting you, or complimenting you.

"I'm-" You pause, not sure of what to tell him. He's not going to lay off of you, not until you give him an answer. "There's no way I could remain celibate." It was true, at least. He couldn't.

"Hasn't stopped any priests in the past. Besides, why not just switch over to another denomination. Anglican, for example, is the same thing, only you men of the cloth can marry."

"For someone who consistently tells people that religion is pointless, you know a lot about it." You're trying to force the conversation onto him, and off of you, but he doesn't fall for it. "It wouldn't be right to just switch denominations to make things easier on me. Becoming a priest, it's supposed to be sacrificing yourself for the greater good of God."

"If it was just not being able to keep your vow of celibacy, you would have gone through with it anyway. You have selective morals. There's more to it than that." You sigh, and open your eyes to look at him, and find him staring intently at you, and it sends an odd shiver down your spine. One that you haven't felt in a long time, and you give your head a slight shake to clear the thoughts running through it. It's just late, thats all. You know him too well to even go down that train of thought.

Then again, there were the long-persisting rumors about him and Wilson.

But there was also Stacy, and whatever it was that he'd had with Cuddy, for...however long that lasted. You're not sure, but his track record tends towards the female end of the spectrum. But then again, you rationalize, you've been sleeping with Allison for how long? But that look, it can't be what you want it to be, it's just you seeing things in the late hour. It's just because it's you, and him, alone in a room, in a scenario that's dangerously close to one that comes up in the shower from time to time, when it's simply you and your right hand, and his name on your lips.

"And if there is, what do you care?"

"So there is something more."

"I'm not going to tell you." It was something more for him to hold over you, something more to blackmail you with.

"Why not?"

"Do you honestly thing I'd willingly give you blackmail material so that you can make me do your clinic hours for you?"

"So it's something really juicy then."

"I realized I couldn't pray a rosary." Again, it was a truth, but not the real reason why. He always somehow screwed up the beads when they were in his hands.

"Even _I _can pray a rosary, and I don't believe in god. Ten hail marys and an our father, how hard is that? That's not it." He's leaning forward in the chair, and you're suddenly aware of how, even though there's a table between you, you feel as though he's invading your personal space.

"I'm not telling you House. You don't have any right, or need, to know."

"What, did you commit some sort of unspeakable sin?" You sigh, eyes drifting closed yet again.

"Yes." You say, hoping it would get him off your back. "I decided to proclaim the All Blacks as my one true god, and pray to them."

"I always pegged you more as the soccer sort. Good looking men in short shorts, but with all of their teeth and no cauliflower ear." Your eyes snap open, and he's sitting there, smirking.

"I played, in high school, dreamed of playing for the All Blacks."

"What?" He asks, and you raise an eyebrow. "I played a bit in college, second row."

"You're too skinny to play a lock." If you had to guess a position for him, you'd guess inside center. Tall, and you supposed when he still had two good legs, that he would have been fast enough to play back row. "Besides, you don't seem the type to grab crotch."

"How do you know I don't enjoy that sort of thing?" You meet his gaze, and there's no trace of sarcasm there, and for a moment, you wonder. "Maybe that's why I _wanted_ to play second row."

"No one wants to play second row."

"I did. What'd you play?"

"Loose forward." You're glad to get the conversation onto neutral ground again, or at least somewhat neutral. Rugby's a topic that he can't turn against you. "Too slow to play wing, and I've got a vicious tackle." It's bragging, slightly, but you did.

"You didn't deny soccer players are better looking." You roll your eyes.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you, I'm curious." You lean forward, testing the waters, seeing if you can force him into a retreat, but he stands his ground. "Curious to know if your Catholic guilt's gotten the better of you."

"What do you mean?" You ask him, eyes locked with his. There's an expression there that's unreadable, even though you're trying very hard to decode it, trying very hard to figure it out.

"Your test of faith-it's not that you can't keep a vow of celibacy, it's _who_ you want to sleep with." It's a statement, not a question, and the only thing you can do is nod, nearly imperceptibly. You're suddenly _very_ aware of the lack of space between the two of you, and your breath hitches in your throat for a moment. "And you want to sleep with me."

There's alarm bells ringing, that somehow he's managed to manipulate you, but before you can react to the loud warning that this was not good, another force overcomes you, and you lean in the last few inches, capturing his lips with your own. There's a pause, and you go to pull away, thinking that you've read this all wrong, that this was simply him playing you to gain more blackmail material, but there's suddenly a set of teeth clamped to your lower lip, preventing you from retreating, and a hand against the back of your head forcing you closer.

Yes, he was right. He was always right. You don't know how he manages to do it, how he manages to figure these things out. Figure out that the reason you'd left seminary was because you knew you couldn't uphold the vows of celibacy, and somehow, it felt so much worse to break them with both men and women. That it felt even more guilty to find yourself on your knees before another man, that it was bad enough you couldn't give up yourself for God, that you weren't a pure enough soul to truly give in to the Lord, but to do it and break one of the greater rules of Leviticus, that was more than you could allow yourself, and still call yourself holy.

But for some reason, you didn't care right now. Right now the only thing you cared about was opening your mouth to allow another tongue to take up residence, and the hand that was tangled in your hair, and the feeling of rough stubble against your cheek. Right now, it didn't matter that you were in the middle of the surgical lounge where everyone could see. Right now, you didn't care about the fact that you had a girlfriend, and that you were practically living together. Right now, you didn't care about that goddamn Catholic guilt, telling you that this was very very wrong, and went against everything you were taught growing up.

Because right now, you had something that you'd dreamed of since you first got a good look into clear blue eyes-bluer than anyone elses, due to the pinpoint pupils, ringed by a dark black making them pop. Something you'd wanted, since you first heard the sharp sarcasm, and the easy way he moved, despite the cane.

As suddenly as it started though, it stops, and he pulls away, a smirk on his face. "You know, there's a reason why I don't believe in organized religion. All that guilt tends to put a damper on all the fun things in life."

You don't quite know how to respond, but your mouth is moving before you can even really think about what you're saying. "But things are so much more fun when they're forbidden." He thinks about this for a moment, before crashing his lips against yours again.


End file.
